


How Does Your Garden Grow

by friends_call_me_wobbly_hands



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: :), Gen, Good times, Happy kids, and diving into the future, and everything in between, and not really asriel, bad times, copied from my tumblr cause i dont care, exploring the backstory, flowey headcanons, just fluff with angst glitter sprinkled over it, lots of asriel, lots of flowey, neutral times, or vice versa, sad kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands/pseuds/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands
Summary: The last soul finally leaves the Underground. Whether it is for good or for bad, he is not sure; but sometimes you have to move on for the sake of it. Sometimes you have to go, even though it means no one will be there to watch the flowers.Sometimes the gardens get by themselves just fine.Basically, just a lot of drabbles from my blog copied and pasted together.





	1. Garden gate

“I - I am still not sure about this”, he says. With a grump, of course, how else, a Flowey without his grump is not a Flowey after all.

They pout a little, still reaching out for him. “Oh, come on! Don’t be such a scaredy plant”.

They laugh at him, fearlessly, breathlessly. 

He bristles with spikes and vines and irritation - but in a second, he is laughing a little too. Maybe just to keep them company, who knows.

“I am a very brave plant, thank you very much. It’s just”- he sighs, feeling his face drop. _Flowey_ never dropped his smile. …Come to think of it, _Asriel_ always smiled as well. “I still don’t feel like I deserve it. That life. That second chance”.

“If _you_ don’t deserve it, then nobody does. You can’t regret hard choices for your whole life”, they say with resolve and care, and their face is a face of a friend, and he sees them right there - all of his friends. Old ones and new ones. Those who he shared laughs with and those who he cried upon. All of them, waiting for him, smiling.

Flowey never cried.  
Asriel cried his eyes out every time.  
But _he_ \- he tears up just a little.

And when he rises up, shaky and unsteady, and makes his first step in - _what feels like eternity_ \- those legs are not Asriel’s and certainly not Flowey’s, and the eyes that squint at the sun don’t belong to either of them, and the body feels as stiff and foreign as a new costume, and the soul inside his chest is not really his - but it’s still _him_ who walks out of the Underground, the last soul to leave it behind, and it’s him who reaches out for the sun and laughs at it and smiles like he has just met an old friend.

The mistakes? He will make up for them, one step at a time. The flowers? He will still check on them, but he has a strong feeling they’ll do just fine.  
Maybe he has spent too long in the past. It’s time now to move on.

“Feels good, huh?” they say, squinting at him.

A year ago, he would sneer and say something witty and distant. Flowey is not a Flowey without his grump. But maybe… maybe he’s fine with not really being Flowey anymore. And maybe he’s fine with finding out who he is now, and finally meeting this person.  
Maybe he will learn to like them.

“Yeah”, he says a little coarsely and smiles back. His paw reaches for the sun; closer, closer - looks like a little more, and it will rest in his fingers. “It does”.


	2. Flowerbed

…The crayon slips from his fingers.

The boy hisses quietly, and for a second his barred fangs look like an image in a nightmare you cannot wake up from - but then he giggles, wiping his mouth with a sleeve (thankfully, no one is around to comment on such an unorthodox use of his fine clothes), and his stiff, unyelding fingers pick up the crayon once again.

It is alright.

When falling, the crayon left a red mark on the sheet of paper, in a place where there shouldn’t be any red. The child stares at the red smudge with annoyed resolve. Sighing, he flexes his fingers and tries to scrape the red off the drawing, but that only spreads it more. Oh, well. He thinks for a minute and then draws a big red heart in that place. Being the sole author and critic of the thing sure gives you some artistic liberty.

The boy smiles a little, content with his idea, and continues painting the two red circles he managed to scribble earlier. The thin piece of the crayon still feels unnatural and wrong in his fluffy hands - he cannot seem to grip it properly - but hey, that is what happens after you don’t have any hands for such a long time. He simply needs practice to learn it again. He bites his tongue and keeps drawing.

When you forget something, it takes a long time to get used to it again, and that is alright.

There are a couple of other twitches and stains he has to cover with hastily drawn flowers, but on the whole he is content with his work. The boy holds it in front of himself, pouting and turning his head to see it from different angles. Yeah, yeah, it is fine. The resemblance is vague, but it is there. 

The front door slams into the wall once, then closes with a similar bang, and Frisk peers into the room - like a small, ruffled bird looking for a nice branch to fly to. In a moment, they are already on top of him, giggling and enragingly content with themselves. 

“You are taking your sweet time, aren’cha? C’mon, mister sleepy snail. We’re all waiting for ya”.

He laughs too, struggling under them - his arms and legs are weak, too weak, he cannot push them off, cannot even bump them seriously - but that’s alright, that’s alright, it is much better than having vines that can crush and tear and hurt. He doesn’t mind being harmless for once, even if it leaves him open to the tickle monster.

The tickle monster knows no mercy. 

When Frisk decides to lay it off, the boy is breathless, only able to hiss the air in and out in small portions, with a sound that is halfway from a laugh to a moan. They smile widely, reaching out to him and helping him get up with a jerk. He leans into them, knowing too well that he can’t stand for himself right now. But that is alright, too. That will come in time. 

Everything will come in time. 

Together they hobble to the car, where Papyrus is already waiting for them. Frisk hops on the backseat and snuggles to Toriel, and the boy is grabbed under his arms and put next to them with the shared efforts of Asgore and Papyrus. He feels a little embarrassed, he is not used to being cared for like that, but that is nice. The drawing is clutched to his chest, to the place where a soul beats under his coat, steadily and patiently.

Papyrus turns on some catchy tune right away, and Frisk chatters about everything that passes their mind, which is a lot of things, so there is no tense silence while they drive - even though the two boss monsters don’t really look at each other. That seems to be another thing the boy has to get used to; he is not so sure about that being alright, but he has no choice. No more choices, no more cheating or resets. Just like the crayon drawing: you cannot erase anything, just sigh and cope and learn to live with it.

Maybe that is why he loves crayons so much.

The mountain grows in the front window until it looms over the car. They all get out and walk to the entrance, and then he asks for something - they all nod. He has to do something, alone. They can come later. It’s not only his business, but he - he has to. They understand. They say it’s alright.

It’s alright.

And so he takes his walking stick and descends until the rocks of the ceiling block out the sun, until he feels grass and flowers under his paws, untill the flowers give way to stone, and hot rock, and damp ground, and snow, and  stone again. It is a long walk, and he has to sit down often, but he doesn’t mind that. Just to think of it, once he could make that journey in seconds.

Just to think of it, once he would have traded that speed for a pair of limbs, so he isn’t really complaining.

Finally, he is here. He lowers himself, slowly, with a studied carefulness. His knees bump into the dirt, and the disturbed flowers wave to and fro all around him.

A paw strokes the flowers proudly, and the boy smiles at them - they seem to be doing just fine.

Then he takes the drawing from under his arm and brings it close to his face. Two brown eyes stare at him from the drawing. He has drawn the hair too curly and the cheeks too red, but the resemblance is there - and their smile radiates warmth that was rare to see when they were still around. But, well. Artistic liberty.

The boy nuzzles the picture, closing his eyes, and puts it on top of the flowerbed.

“Happy birthday, Chara”, he says, and there is no regret or guilt in his voice - only warmth, too. “I have so much to tell you”.

The flowers nod at him, swaying, back and forth, back and forth, as he starts speaking again - the pollen dances in the sunlight - and it is not perfect, it is not what he would want, it still stings - but he will learn to live with it, with everything, and he will grow, and he will change, and it is alright.

Everything is alright.


	3. Overgrown stone path

"Do you wish to see the sun one day, Asriel?" Chara says.

They don't call him Asriel that often - they seem to have a very personal hatred for formality, and it is always Azzy or Zee or Rilly or another dozen of silly little nicknames for the two of them - so of course Asriel turns his head at once.

"Huh?"

"I said, do you wish to see-"

"No, no, I - I heard that, just - um, it is a bit... sudden?.."

They both lie in the royal garden, both covered in spots of dirt and yellow light, both still warm and exhausted from playing. Their parents are coming any moment to get them tea and towels. Monsters sometimes peek in, only to be shooed away and disappear, laughing quietly. There seems to be so much of _Underground_ present around them that it is easy to forget there is the _Surface_ somewhere there, too.

But things like that are always sudden with Chara. Their thoughts are like a stream that is hidden deep in caves and tunnels, and only resurfaces briefly so you are left to wonder what turns it took down below. Then it vanishes from sight once again, to sparkle somewhere else next time. It is never easy with Chara. But then again, it is never boring.

"It is just..." Seems like this time they  have chosen to explain themselves, for once. "All of those monsters. They all seem to be so stubborn. They are so bent on seeing the stars. The sun. The surface". Chara reaches out; their pale fingers clench he air above their face, as if trying to grab and pull the sky down with them. "I merely wondered if you wanted to see them, too".

"I... I guess", Asriel says, a bit confused. He has never really thought much of it. Surface is an ultimate goal for all of the monsterkind, and the desire to reach it is a bit of a constant at this point. Everyone has this desire, because they are monsters, and because it would be silly not to have it, and because it's not even worth mentioning: it's like being a monster and having a soul - everyone else has it, too, so why think of it twice?

Chara sighs. Their fingers form a fist and come back down to rest on their forehead. Asriel lifts his own paw and touches their elbow.

"I do not miss it much, to be completely honest", his friend says, and their face rests in shadow. "I mean... It can be nice. Sunny days. Clear sky. Stars. Clouds. Rain, maybe at times. Seeing the horizon. It _can_ be nice. But there also are thunderstorms", they say. Their fingers twitch a little. "Hurricanes, tornados, tsunami, storms, blizzards, draughts... I like _Underground_ more, Asriel. It doesn't have the sky, sure. But it doesn't have everything that may come from that sky, at the same time".

Asriel feels like he doesn't understand something. And also he feels like Chara is so much older than him, despite them being only a year apart. But he is eight. He is still a kid. He is allowed to miss things even adults don't always notice.

"I... I don't know about that much", he says and looks away, ashamed of his own honesty. "But, um - can't you just hide somewhere until bad things pass?"

"You cannot", Chara says. "Bad things never really pass. You may think they have, but then it turns out they only were waiting for you to do something stupid. And you always do something stupid".

Asriel decides he doesn't like that talk.

"Um, what _does_ the sun look like?" he says hastily, and by the way Chara snorts and lifts the hand from their face he understands that they have seen right through his weak attempt to change the subject.

Their smile is _warm_ , though.

"Well... It is just a big blob of light, hanging in the sky", they say, humor sparkling in their normally flat tone. "It is about that big- and it is so bright you cannot look at it".

"I bet I could look at it", Asriel says, if only to be stubborn.

"I bet _you_ could", Chara agrees, "and then you would go blind and Mister Asgore would have to make AD your seeing eye dog".

" _Ew_!" They both snicker a little. Then Chara sighs, breathing the last little laugh out.

"It is not such a big deal", they say. "The sun, I mean. No need to wish so hard to see it".

Asriel moves a bit, so their heads touch.

"But it would be nice", he says. "To see it with you".

His friend falls silent. Then they chuckle.

"And you don't even mind the seeing eye Annoying Dog? Ha, you are growing sappy, Azzy".

"Am not!" Azzy argues.

"You are. Senile and sappy and sweet".

"No, I - hey, don't, don't tickle me, Chara, noooo - ahaha haha hahahahaha!.."

 

-

 

"I think it _would_ be nice", Chara says a day later, and once again Asriel is left to guess what unseen twists and turns of the current made their mind arrive at this particular thought.

"What would be nice?"

"Seeing the sun with you, you dork".

"Oh". Asriel has to think hard to remember their conversation. "Yeah, sure. I guess. Oh! I wanted to ask you, um. What is a - 'sunderstorm', by the way?"

Chara snorts and messes his hair. "Maybe I will tell you, one day".

They are both kids, they are both warm and silly and small. The royal garden has never seen red and white, not yet - aside from his fur, aside from their cheeks.

"I have so much to tell you yet, Azzy. _I have so much to tell you_ ".

 


	4. Unused bird bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, a 'draft' based on a meme from my Tumblr: I had to write an ending to my muse's story where no one has to die, and, well, I took it into the territory of alternative universes. Enjoy this one big "what if".

“…Ma! Ma-a-a! Unkie Tom is being weird again!”

“How interesting. What did he do now?”

“He’s crying over that - ugh - that stupid dolphin! An’ I tell him, she’s alright, she got a tail - but! Ugh! He don’ listen! An’ he says she still _lost_ her tail first, she’s poor _this_ an’ poor _that_ , an’…”

There is a loud, hearty laugh, and a large fluffy paw rests on the kid’s messy hair.

“First things first, it is ‘he doesn’t’, not 'he don’t’. Remember? Now, dear”, Toriel says with just a hint of irony in her honeylike voice. “As far as I remember, you shed a few tears over that story as well”.

“Am a _kid_ , Ma! An’ he’s a grown up.” Frisk squints at her, furious at Uncle Tom’s sensitivity. “An’ it was an hour ago - no cryin’ now!”

“Fine, fine, my child. I understand you. Yet I believe you are too hard on him. Show a little Kindness to your poor old Uncle, will you not?”

Frisk makes a sound of distress, shrugs and walks away, throwing their hands in the air in capitulation. Wind plays with their hair, and tall dry grass strokes their knees, covered in colorful patches of mismatched bandaids.

Toriel laughs again, but her laugh turns into a surprised little squeak as two hands hug her from behind rather tightly.

“What was that about?”

“Tom has been crying again”, she answers, leaning back so she can briefly nuzzle noses with Asgore. Her tone is more playful than concerned, as if Tom crying is a bit of a family anecdote, which it is.

“Oh, is that really so?” Asgore says, raising his brows, and Toriel giggles in his arms. “Well, I suppose he will need a double portion of chamomilla tea today. Now, could you give me a hand with that blanket?”

“I guess you could say that would certainly come in hand-y”, Toriel says solemnly, and they both smile while they lay the blanket under the tree.

 

***

 

Frisk walks across the field, hands flying up now and then in an attempt to regain their balance when their feet get tangled in the grass. The sun touches the back of their head, and it becomes burning hot very soon. They muffle their hair and snuff with a serious face.

Behind them, their friends settle down for a picnic. Asgore and Toriel busy themselves with food; Snowy, his father, mother and little sister work together to keep the drinks cold; the skeleton family is tinkering with the fireworks; the dogs are in charge of the barbeque, and Gerson watches them so they don’t drop too much fur on the meat; Shyren sings along with her sister and two small shy ghosts; Undyne shouts something motivational while Alphys laughs herself breathless, long given up on attempts to stop her girlfriend, and the sound of her happy laugh rings far across the field.

Frisk keeps walking.

They climb a hill, stubbornly clenching their fists when the cheerful hum behind them becomes especially clear and loud. Their goal is there, on top of the hill, and they are determined to get there.

They get there.

“Unkie Tom?” they call out hesitantly. “Am sorry. For, uh. For saying you are weird. Cause, uh. It was a real sad story. I guess”.

There is a rustle, a low drone, as if somebody has blown into a fire. Then-

“Oh, okay”, a deep voice says, and it is both watery and warm. “I don’t mind, really. I am a crybaby, right? I am and I know that and I am proud”.

“You not - not mad at me?”

“How could I be? Now - come 'ere”.

Frisk smiles uneasily and comes a step closer, and then - then a giant horned head descends to them to carefully press its nose to the top of the child’s head.

“We are good?” asks the head with the same warm voice, and its green eyes watch Frisk with concern.

“Yeah”. They touch the nose; it is warm and covered in soft fur. “Thanks, Unkie. Can I - can I talk to Asriel, pretty please?”

“Oh. Sure”.

The beast in front of Frisk, an enormous dragon covered in white fur, shakes its head - wind whistles in its vicious horns, in its seven pairs of wings. All his fourteen eyes blink before one pair of them flies open and the others shut completely. Two mighty front paws dig into the ground a little deeper, each talon is as big as Frisk’s head.

Then, the beast lowers its stare and says, “Howdy”.

“Howdy”, Frisk says.

“It’s a nice day for a picnic”, Asriel says. “I like the sun. Everybody does”.

“How’re you?”

“Oh, everything is quite well”. The beast scratches its head. “Ana is mad at Terry. Again. She says they rush in too much”.

“Yeah, I know”, Frisk says. They pick a grass leaf and start tearing it to small pieces.

“Dina wants a grilled tomato”, Asriel says thoughtfully. “I guess we will eat some, later”.

“Okay”.

“…” There is a momentary pause, before another familiar voice muses: “Nancy has been sleeping more and more lately. You could say it is a disturbing occurence”.

“Hi, Chara”.

“Greetings, Frisk”. Neither their voice nor their eyes (deep, royal red) are filled with warmth. Chara doesn’t like humans too much; they have grown to somewhat tolerate six people they share a body with, and now they are growing to tolerate Frisk, but it is a lengthy process. Frisk didn’t have a chance to meet them in person, because Chara died in their forties from some human illness a century before Frisk fell, but they think that maybe even if Chara had lived twice and thrice their age, it wouldn’t have changed much.

“I got you chocolate”. They dig into their pockets, pull out a bar, get rid of the wrapper and hold it up on their palms as if feeding a horse. “Ma don’ know about it”.

“How interesting”. Chara sounds a bit surprised, as always; but excessive treats is one (and probably only) way to get their benevolence. They bend down and take the treat with soft lips, pretty much like a horse. “It has melted”.

“Kept it in ma’ pocket. It’s hot”.

“The weather _has_ been quite warm lately”, Chara says most fashionably, and Frisk rolls their eyes at the prospect of smalltalk.

“Yeah. Um - can I get Asriel back?”

“Perhaps, if he is feeling up to it”, Chara replies, and it is a clear sign they don’t mind Frisk that much nowadays; a year ago they would say something like _'Don’t you have anything better to do than to pester him?’_ Frisk shrugs and waits, and in a few seconds Asriel shakes his head and looks down at them.

“Hi again. What do you want?”

Frisk doesn’t answer. Instead, they stare at the sad remains of a grass leaf in their hands.

“You’re a hero”, they say finally. It isn’t meant to be a question or an attempt at flattering - just a calm recognition of the fact.

Asriel bends his head to one side, and his wings shiver. “Am I?”

Frisk shrugs. “They say so”.

“Oh”.

The last pieces of the grass leaf are dropped down. “I think I like it. That I’m not a hero. If being hero is like this”.

Asriel jerks. “…Oh. Well. Okay. Well, you never had to make a choice to be one, so”.

“Yeah”. Frisk never had to become a hero, a savior, an angel, a _last soul_ ; that role had already been filled. When they fell down (on a large, soft heap of hay), a couple of welcoming monsters greeted them and led safely all the way to New Home. They caught a glimpse of Dina in her last days: she was very old already and didn’t see much, but her cold fingers managed to curl once around Frisk’s small, warm palm. A little later, she was gone, and then the Star of the Underground took her soul like he did with all the others.

Frisk has heard this story countless times. Eight human children fell into the Underground. They came, they died, but they never left, because no one could leave from under the Barrier. The very first human kid, Chara, died so soon, and there was no plan, back then - when their sibling took their soul, it was a gesture of anguish and grief, not a step towards the monsters’ liberation; but in the end, the first step it was. Then the second kid came, small and sickly, who passed away the youngest; then came the children who stayed till their heads went grey and their fingers shaky, but their souls never wavered. They all lived in New Home with the royal family, until they died as well, one by one, and the Star, the Hero, the Angel, the Savior took their souls, one by one. Frisk was never meant to save anyone. But they were the first human kid to ever leave the Underground alive. The rest of them…

The rest of them are right here, all together, trapped and tied and tangled in the giant prison of a monster’s body.

Frisk toys with the hem of their shirt.

“I like not being a hero”, they say again. “I don’ think I can be, even. Too hard. Does it hurt?”

Asriel blinks with his fourteen eyes, and it looks like a glimpse of a rainbow.

“…No. Maybe just a little. I got used to it”.

“When will you - let go?”

“What?..”

“You have to let go”, Frisk says. It is something they heard a lot lately and had thought about long before. “Miss Deborah said so. She said all souls have to move on. To heaven. Heaven has a lot of nice things”, they add with an authoritative air. “You have to let them go there”.

“No”. Asriel shakes his head. “No, no, Frisk. You don’t - you don’t understand. You are too small”.

“Am not small. Know a lot of stuff”, Frisk mumbles. “See a lot, too. See how Ma and Pa look at you. I think they want that too”.

“No”. The beast becomes agitated; its wings shiver uncontrollably, its eight voices combine into one. “No, that won’t do. That won’t do. You just imagine things. It is better for us. For them”.

“Chara, tell 'im!”

One voice rises over the others. “Tell him what? I think keeping this form is the best course of action. First of all, it gives the monsterkind an ultimate weapon against the humans. What is an army to a god? Second, this way Asgore and Toriel do not age. All in all, I just do not agree with your logic”.

Frisk huffs and stomps. Chara often acts as a voice of reason for Asriel, but sometimes they are even more delusional than he is.

“Cannot stay like this, forever”, they say stubbornly and helplessly. “Cannot”.

“No. No, no, no”. One final shake of the mighty head. Eight voices ring like bells, fourteen wings flap above. “No one has to leave. No one has to die. Isn’t it better, like this? Isn’t it the _happy ending_?”

“Are _you_ happy, Asriel?” Frisk asks suddenly, and their voice is small and sad.

The beast falls still and silent. It stares down; its eyes open and close, as if looking at each other, and it repeats “Am I happy?” in eight echoing, reverberating voices, all at once and one by one.

“Are you?”

“Yes”, eight voices say. “We are happy”.

“Am speaking to _Asriel_ ”.

The beast falls silent.

“What’s - your favorite color?” Frisk says. No one answers. “Used ta be pink, last year. You spoke a lot more, too. You spoke so much. Before you took Dina, and a bit after. Now you only talk about _them_. About your human souls. Like you are - fading. Going away”. They look up and hold their hands up, and the beast, tamed, lowers its head enough for them to touch its chin. “I don’ want you to go. I don’ want you to go at all”.

There is a minute’s silence. Then the beast closes all its eyes, and one pair of them slowly blinks open. Their color is brilliant green.

“The kiddo is right”, Tom says, deep and warm and kind. “It was a nice time. I was happy to see the sun once again. But it is time for us to move on. It is time for us to let you live your life”.

Green eyes close, and another pair flies open, the one of radiant yellow. “That would only be fair”, Dina says. “We had our shot and we lived our lives, and we can’t say those lives were too bad. We have to pay that debt now”.

A spark of cyan. “I want to join my mom and dad”, Nancy whispers in a thin, sleepy voice. “They have been waiting for me for too long. I don’t want to try their patience too much”.

Dark blue eyes shine next. “True”, Moby says solemnly. “I always tried to help people around me. Being selfish would mean not being true to myself. I cannot afford it”.

“Hey, I’m not that much of a coward to cover behind a kid’s back!” Terry cries out, and their eyes are a blast of orange. “I want to see what is out there, after all! I bet Betsy was really off about the afterlife”.

“You are a cabbagehead, but you are right”, Ana says, and her eyes glow deep purple. “We have reached the end. The only thing we can do is leave. I hope my sins will still be absolved…”

“ _NO_!” Asriel screams, and all the eyes are squeezed shut. “No, no, _no_! We will stay together, we have to, no one has to die, no one has to die, no one, _no one_ , I cannot lose you, cannot lose you all, cannot, cannot…”

A large light drop falls close to Frisk’s feet. Another one gets their hands wet. They sigh and press themselves to the white soft fur and let Asriel cry - a broken, remorseful, unconsollable sound.

“Why, Tom”, Asgore says, walking closer with a teapot in his hand. “Are you still upset over the dolphin?..”

 

***

 

The picnic goes just fine.

After the sun sets and the monsters are done packing, Asgore, Toriel and Frisk go to say goodbye to Asriel - he is too big to fit into any house, so he lives in the country in large comfy barn, and he isn’t coming to the city with them. It has been a few years after the Barrier broke down, so they had plenty of time to make the barn as glamorous as possible.

“Goodbye, everyone”, says Toriel after mentioning every one of her kids personally. “Be good, will you, my children? Sleep tight”.

“You are always welcome in our house”, Asgore adds as he does every time. “Day and night, whenever you would need us”.

Seven voices echo “Bye, mom, dad”, “Goodbye, Toriel and Asgore” and every variation of the two. Frisk waits a few steps aside, and they - as well as the seven pairs of watchful eyes - see the quick, uncomfortable look Asgore and Toriel share just a moment before parting with what became of their son.

“I still think what I said”, Frisk whispers in the large white ear when the beast bends down to them. “An’ I will never allow you to take _my_ soul. Never”.

“Oh”, Asriel says in a desperate voice. “But maybe, later you will change your mind…”

“Never. Am _determined_ ”. They press their palm to their chest, looking like maybe, in another time, in another story, they could very well be a hero. “Am never gonna change”.

“…Don’t”, Asriel says. He nuzzles the top of their head. “Don’t change. Please. Don’t grow”. He lets out a shivery sigh. “Everyone grows. Everyone has to change, and to age, and to die, and I don’t understand that. I don't understand why”.

“Okay. I won’t change”, Frisk says as if this is the easiest promise to keep. They press their hands to the sides of his head. “Good night, Asriel”.

“Good night, Frisk”, Asriel says as they walk downhill, and their shadow stretches far, far across the quiet field.

 

***

 

It is night.

The beast sits alone (and yet never truly alone) on top of the hill. It should go, it knows that, but for some reason it doesn’t want to.

The stars start appearing.

 _Did you want to see the stars,_ ask seven voices in the beast’s head.

No one answers, but the beast perks up, listening.

 _Did you use to like stars?_ ask the voices. _Did you dream of them? Did you call upon them? Did you ever want to touch them?_

The beast grows restless. It stares up and digs its talons in the grass with a whimper.

_Do you like the stars? Do you want to see them? Do you want to reach them? Do you want to be a star?_

The beast’s wings shiver and rise, as if it is preparing to jump, to fly, to touch the stars for real -  
but it doesn’t. After a moment, the wings are still again, and the beast sits upright, watching the night sky.

 _You will have to let go one day,_ echo the voices quietly. _You will have to, or it will hold you down forever. Or you will never be able to fly._

 _I don’t want to fly,_ Asriel says. His voice is weak, weak, as if it is fading away - somewhere too far to call him anymore. _I don’t want to fly if staying is what will keep you safe._

_You are not meant to stay safe. You are meant to fall into the sky and lose yourself among the stardust. You are meant to risk. You are meant to live. You are meant to move on._

There is no answer. The beast sits there all night long, looking up at the stars.

“I am happy”, it whispers, watching the constellations circle. “I am happy. I am. I am”.

The night is the darkest night ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If somebody didn't catch it: Gaster is alive; Alphys has never been Royal Scientist; people who would have made Amalgamates didn't fall down; Toriel and Asgore are together; Mettaton has never been built; Asriel cannot grow or mature because of the human souls he took, but his parents do not age, either.


	5. Unpaved road behind the garden wall

They kept going.

Their name was 'Frisk': a silly little bunch of sounds - like a whisper, a taste of falling leaves on their tongue, a feather from a song that no longer sings. Their name was Frisk, and they were going home.

Their legs started hurting in Ruins, in Snowdin it became worse, in Waterfall they were already limping. In Hotland walking became a hard task. Their legs didn’t want to do their job, and Frisk had to pull and push them like sticks, painfully aware of all the little movements every step consisted of. Pick a leg up, bend it, put it forward. Pick a leg up, bend it, put it forward. Their soles weighted more than a mountain, their ankles burned and their muscles tingled, but they kept going.

It wasn’t such a bad pain, after all.

Their hair, short and badly cut, was wet and curly - from melted snow, then water, then sweat. All the dirt of the Underground was caked into their clothes. Their palms were burning from the weapons they had to grip. Their soul still remembered what dying feels like. They kept going.

And they fell down, down, down, down, down.

And then they stood up and started walking again. 

Grey powder collected in the folds of their sweater, under their nails. Dust made them sneeze. Sneezing made their eyes water. Dust didn’t make them feel stronger. Mostly, dust simply didn’t make them feel much. 

Reality was blurring until it was all but a dream, but Frisk could tell it wasn’t a real dream because they never dared to sleep.

Golden stars danced in their hands and under their eyelids. Stars didn’t light their way. Stars were lifeless and cold and uncaring. But they kept going. They always did. They had to.

Their name was Frisk, and they were going home.


	6. A 'Don't Trespass' sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative name: "Fine"  
> Chapter warnings: blood, violence, illness, injury, child death.

"I am fine. I am telling you. I am fine".

Birds sing above. Rays of light drift in, and flowers nod to the passing wind. There are bright patches among the grass. Blue, pink, violet, yellow. Red.  
"Oh, stop that. It's just a little scratch", Chara says with an annoyed voice when Asriel rushes to them with a handful of bandaids, sniffling. It is not a scratch. Their trowel slipped as they were weeding out the flowerbed. There is blood, and Chara looks pale - much paler than normal, almost as white as Asriel's own fur. They draw in little breaths and lean heavily onto him as soon ad they can, but-

"This is just a scratch. Stop the waterworks. Man up. Azzy. _Asriel_ ", and Asriel knows he's in trouble because they only use his full name and this cold tone when they are really mad at him, but he cannot help himself. There is red on the grass, red on their shirt. Red smudges blur before his eyes as the tears overflow and slide down his wet, scrunched face. He fumbles for a bandaid, he drops it. His fingers shake. He takes another one. Chara is shivering, their eyes start closing, but -

" _Stop_ ", they manage to mumble before their eyes roll up and their body becomes limp in Asriel's arms.  


***

  
"Just a little bruise", Chara says when Asriel notices.

They are sitting on the bed, looking away, and he stands before them, holding their arm by the elbow. Their sleeve is down, and their whole white arm is covered in patches of brilliant blues, violets and yellows. There are marks there, too, red and swollen and angry. It is not the snarling red of the blood on the grass, but it is not a good red nonetheless. Asriel tries not to think what those marks look like.

"It is nothing. Not worth talking about", they say, tearing their arm away and pulling the sleeve down. Asriel tries not to think how they seem to prefer long sleeves. Especially after something happens or Mom and Dad are mad at them. "I fell in the garden", and Asriel knows they are lying, he knows what those marks look like, he knows that this red color is not good at all, and he tries:

"Chara..."

They jump up and grab his shirt. He bleats once in alarm. They stare him down, eyes wide and hollow and unblinking.

"I. Fell. Down", they say, very slowly, as if they were talking to a very small, very stupid child who needs a pep talk. "It is just a bruise. Just that. Man up, Asriel. You cannot keep freaking out after every small thing. Do you think anyone likes crybabies?"

Asriel feels his eyes well up with tears he can't hold back, and he shakes his head, miserably. No, no one likes crybabies, no one needs crybabies, that is why no one liked him in school. Chara looks at him with disappointment, Chara must think he is a stupid crybaby, maybe Chara does not like him at all, really. Chara never cries, even when they get hurt. They always keep calm and laugh it off. If Asriel got bruises like this, he would probably sob for hours, but Chara does not cry. Chara is strong. Chara is not a crybaby, like he is.

"Sorry", he squeezes out, covering his eyes, and his sibling makes a sigh.

"Whatever. Clean up, you have snot coming out of your nose."

Asriel nods and goes to the bathroom. When he returns, he sees Chara with their arm up and at their face. They quickly put it down and cover it with a sleeve. Asriel does not look at them. They do not look at him, either. There is a dull glow of guilt in their eyes.

"Just a little bruise will not kill you", they mumble, and Asriel tries hard not to think how the marks looked weirdly like bites.  


***

  
"I am fine", Chara groans. They are not fine. They are pink and hot and disheveled. Their hair, always neat and combed, is lying on the pillows in unwashed messy plaits. Chara is a sickly kid, and they go down with colds rather often, but this time it is worse. Longer, too. They have been bed-ridden for days on end. Asriel sits next to them, wanting to hold their hand, but they keep it stubbornly under the blanket, and he does not know what to do with his own hands as they come and touch and twist the linen, searching for something to busy themselves with.

"Chara", he starts, pleading, on the verge of crying already, and they groan – a prolonged, suffering sound.

"What? I am fine. I told you. It is just a little cold."

_But it is worse than this_ , Asriel wants to scream. He heard them tossing and turning all night long, and their eyes are dim from the fever, and they cannot stop coughing and their voice is coarse, quiet. It is all very not okay, and he cannot do a thing about this. He feels his eyes become watery. Blink, and the first little drop slides down. It falls on the blanket. Chara stares at it, then glares up at him, but-

"I just don’t want you to _hurt_ ", Asriel manages to squeeze out, and suddenly all fight is gone from their eyes. They sink down, defeated, confused. Asriel fishes for their hand under the blanket, and they let him take it.

"I _will_ be fine", Chara finally yields. It is almost an admittance that they are not fine _right now_ , and that is the most vulnerable Asriel has ever seen them. They close their eyes, sighing, and for this moment they look more peaceful and content than ever. Their fingers squeeze his, just a little. Asriel squeezes back and tries to smile through his tears. "It is… just a cold. I am too strong for it to beat me. Do you think I will let some measly cold to kick my butt without consequences? Do you really think my butt-kicking skills are that bad?"

"No", Asriel says, and he feels his smile getting wider. " _You_ will kick _its_ butt. Definitely. It stands no chance against you".

Chara smiles back, still with their eyes closed, but it is one of their good smiles – one of the real ones that lit up their face. It is a bit weak now, like a flickering lightbulb compared to a campfire, but it makes Asriel feel warmer inside nonetheless.

"Yeah", they say, soft. They squeeze his fingers again. Asriel wants to think that maybe they feel the same warmth. "Here you go. You just have to believe in me. And I will be fine. Everything will be".

Asriel holds onto their hand, squints and believes so hard that they laugh for a good hour at his scrunched serious face.

 

***

 

"It is fine", Chara says, but Asriel does not believe them anymore.

Because he is bigger now. Because he is less easy to convince. Because it is not fine when there is so much blood, when they cannot even hold water down, when there are blisters and rash and when even the lightest touch hurts them – when even _Chara_ cannot say that _they_ are fine, anymore.

"It is going to be alright", they whisper to him, because their voice is hoarse and difficult to use. They are too tired to open their eyes. Their hair is slick and greasy from the sweat. It is so, so much worse than the scratches, the bruises, the colds and fevers. Asriel wishes _he’d_ rather be that sick, and not them. He is strong, really. He is not a crybaby anymore. Chara made him stronger. He’d take that. He’d pull through. They have always been the sickly one, and he can barely remember the last time he got ill. Years ago, maybe. But they had to be the one going through this for their plan to work. 

They don’t deserve this, and he tells them that.

"Stop", Chara says, a scratching whisper, and they turn away as much as they can. They look like they want to say _yes, I deserve exactly that_ , but just do not bother. They are closed off, like a scared clam; they turned their back and shut the whole world off, like they did when Asriel saw the bruises for the first time. He wishes they would come back to him, but they barely hear them anymore. Not because they cannot hear well, but because they shut him off and now he is outside and they are in, alone with themselves, not wanting to listen to anyone anymore.

They used to be softer, he thinks. They got better. There were fewer marks, lately. They wore short sleeves for weeks on end. But then came the buttercups. And then came the plan.

And then this.

"Everything will be fine", Chara says. They smile, but it never reaches their eyes. There is no warm glow. Only the snarling, dangerous, poisonous red. "You have to believe me. You have to, Azzy. It will be fine. You are going to be safe. You are going to be happy. You are going to be free", - but he does not _want_ that, he does not want to be free and happy _alone_ , and he starts:

"Chara…"

" _Don’t_ ", they growl, their smile gone. Then they wince, and their face is scared and desperate for a moment. It is like they cannot keep their walls up anymore. "Don”t back off on me now. Please. Please".

"I don’t want you to hurt. I don’t want you to leave me", Asriel sobs, and there are tears, and suddenly he is back to being a crybaby and he is bawling over Chara, holding their hand in a death grip. They wince, but after a moment their free hand rises slowly and rests on top of his head. Their fingers move just a bit, ruffling his hair. Asriel tries to cry quieter.

"It is okay", they say. "It will get better, I promise. I promise you, Asriel, it will be better for everyone", and Asriel knows they still don’t hear him, they still don’t want to understand what he is saying, but:

"I love you", Chara says, quietly, for the first time in their life, and they sound _bare_ – no walls, no defenses left. Their fingers shiver on Asriel’s head. "Please. It will be fine, okay? You just have to believe me, and everything will be fine".

Asriel presses his head to their side – oh so carefully, to not hurt them even more – and through his silent sobs he tries to hear their heartbeat. Chara’s hand is too cold in his fingers, and he holds on to it tightly, trying to keep them warm. They manage to squeeze back, feebly, and for a moment he thinks he can see an echo of a real smile touch their lips.

"Just don’t leave me, please", they say again. "Please. You have to trust me. You have to trust me, and it will be fine. It will be fine. It will be".

And Asriel is not little, he is hard to convince, but there is nothing he can do, so he holds on to them and never lets go and he believes in them, he does,

he makes himself believe them,

he keeps believing in them till the very end.

 

***

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have, he thinks, as his hands clench their cold, heavy body to his chest.

Standing hurts. Breathing hurts. _Living_ hurts. His head rings with the shouts and bangs and cries. Chara screams in his head, and they are angry, they are inconsolable, but they cannot shut him off now – not like this, when their very souls hold on to each other.

Asriel hugs their body, and he reaches out to them in his head, and they jerk away in fear – because they are _scared_ , they have always been, now he sees that – and he still clings to them, he lets them shout and call him names and struggle but he does not let go.

He turns away and starts walking away, away from the crowd, the flowers, the shots. Chara howls at him to stop and fight. Dust trails from his wounds, and something shatters inside him with every step, but he still goes on.

Chara starts sobbing. Asriel clings to them, and for some reason his own eyes are dry. Chara pleads and struggles. He does not let go. They may be determined, but he is _resolved_.

Chara grows weaker, quieter in his head – their body is so heavy, it presses him down, but he holds on to it as stubbornly as if it was his lifesaver - he feels them fading away and h understands the world around him starts to get dimmer, too, and it is scary, oh so scary, but his sibling is crying and he cannot leave them like this, he has promised. He holds on to Chara and he keeps walking, and he says:

"I am fine", and they make a little confused sound. He feels them twitch and he holds firmer, gentler. "I will be fine. We both will be. I promise you, Chara. I promise".

There is just a little bit more dust lost with each step. His eyelids feel heavy, his head light, and the world is swimming around him, but he keeps walking.

"We are fine", he says, and Chara lets out a small sob. They curl up there, in his head, and he holds on, he keeps them close. He is scared, too, but right now they are vulnerable and crying and desperate, and he needs to stay strong for them. They did, for him. "I promise, okay? You just have to believe me. You have to believe me, and everything will be fine".

Chara is silent for a little while. Then:

"We will be fine", they echo in a small, watery voice. They stop struggling. They reach back. "It’s just a little scratch. It is going to be okay. We will think of something. We cannot give up, just yet".

"Mom and Dad will help us", Asriel says. Mountain Ebbot is so close now. They are almost there. His legs are leaden, but they are almost there. "A little scratch does not kill anyone. We will be fine".

"We are fine", says the second voice in his head. Quiet. Soft. Fading.

"Yeah. We are. Believe me. We are".

"…We are fine".

"Yeah. Yeah".

"We’ll be fine…"

"Yeah…"

"…we will, right?…"

"Believe me", he says.

 

And they do.

They do.


End file.
